


00Q - Sweet Escape

by sparqs



Category: 00Q - Fandom, James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, ALL THE TAGS AND MORE TO COME, Age Difference, Anal Sex, Bisexual Character, Bisexual Character of Color, Bisexual Female Character of Color, Bisexual Male Character, Drunk Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Female Character of Color, Gay Character, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian Sex, M/M, My First Fanfic, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Shower Sex, Suit Porn, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-08 00:28:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparqs/pseuds/sparqs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q's life had always been a bit of a rollercoaster ride but, after spiralling downwards and almost hitting rock bottom, he was saved by the one man he thought he'd never need.</p><p>Follow sparqs00q on Tumblr for updates or to make suggestions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic. I'll be writing/posting it chapter by chapter. Suggestions for improvement are welcomed. Enjoy! :)
> 
> http://sparqs00q.tumblr.com/

**\- Chapter 1 -**

_*** **Please Note:** This chapter contains some strong homophobic slurs. I am a queer male myself and use these words with full awareness of the discomfort they may cause - if said language triggers anything/offends you, please skip this chapter. ***_

* * *

“Oi, boy! Get in here _now!_ ”

Alex narrowed his eyes, staring harder at the computer screen.

“You get ya useless pansy arse down here now, ya hear me?!”

Gritting his teeth, Alex ignored his father’s furious bellows. His long, slender fingers fluttered effortlessly across the laptop as he tapped out line after line of code.

_“NOW, you fucking waste of space! I’ll smash that fucking computer in ya faggot face if I have to come up there!”_

Alex quickly finished typing and stood, but the heavy thud of his father’s footsteps on the stairs told him it was too late. His stomach knotted in cold fear as he clenched his fists and braced himself for the confrontation.

The door flew open.

Before Alex could register what was happening, blows were landing on his chest and shoulders. He instinctively shielded his face with his arms and tried to turn away, but a strong hand gripped him by the hair and yanked him back around.

Hot, alcoholic breath and spittle hit Alex’s face as his glasses were knocked askew and his lip split. Through the metallic tang of blood, he spluttered: “wh- what’s this for? What have I- I d- done?”

A solid punch to the jaw immediately sent him reeling into the wall. He fell against it, bruised and winded, and landed on all fours as kicks cracked across his shins.

The beatings ceased. Alex did not dare raise his head.

“You little shit. You had a plan, huh? Move out of here, fuck off to London? Just run off to London like your bloody mother did? Thought I’d never find out about what you’ve been up to? Thought I’d never know?”

Alex swallowed hard as his father stepped closer, dropping his voice to a cold hiss.

“A lady came by today. Asked if you were home, said she hadn’t been able to reach you by phone. Told me she was a real estate agent come to talk about the flat. The _London_ flat. Naturally, I was confused. Naturally. I asked, what flat? And you know what she told me?”

His stomach churning, Alex closed his eyes and held his breath.

“Do you know what she fucking told me? ‘The flat in London that Alex and John are moving into. Surely Alex has told you.’ You hadn’t told me, though, had you? Hadn’t fucking told me anything. John. I asked her who the fuck John was. You hadn’t told me you were _a flaming poofter.”_

Alex finally found his voice, and it emerged as faint and cracked as his body felt: “please, Dad. Please. Pl–“

“I thought it was bad enough you didn’t want to be a plumber. Didn’t want to follow me into the trade. Fine, I thought, the boy’s a fucking pussy. Let him do his computer bullshit. Maybe one day he’ll find his bollocks. But this… _This…_ ”

“Please, Dad.”

“Get out of my house. Don’t fucking set foot in this bloody house ever again.”

“Dad, I–“

“Not your dad. You are not my fucking son. Get out. You disgust me. You get a day to clear off or I’m going to thrash the living daylights out of you.”

After his father left the room, Alex curled into foetal position against the wall and clenched his aching jaw, too shaken to move.

 

* * *

 

 

They’d had to move in early, but an extra week’s rent was a small price to pay for Alex to escape from his father. Tucked away with John in their cramped one-bedroom apartment, Alex was anonymous amongst the dark, damp streets of London and safe at last.

Life felt normal, save for the new experiences that came with sharing a space with his boyfriend. Alex was a neat freak and John was not: shouting matches over unwashed dishes and clothes-strewn floors became daily occurrences. Regular milk and parcels of meat appeared beside Alex’s soymilk and tofu in the fridge, and coffee beside his Earl Grey on the kitchen counter. Crisp black suits hung alongside his hipster cardigans in the cupboard. A silver Volkswagen Golf competed with his teal vintage fixed-gear bicycle for space in their tiny underground garage.

Still, Alex’s daily routine changed very little. He would rise at midday, a full four hours after John had already left for work. After shaving and making a futile attempt at smoothing his unruly mop of hair, he would wash down raspberry jam on toast with a freshly-brewed cup of Earl Grey. Crawling back into bed with yet another cup of tea, he would open up his laptop and scour job search sites for opportunities to put his law degree to use. After making a few applications and angrily declaring the state of the job market _"absolutely ludicrous"_ aloud to himself, he would give up and throw himself into his real passion: hacking.

Alex had first dabbled in hacking early in high school. A thin, pale child who rarely spoke, the ‘nerd group’ had claimed him as one of their own in Year 7, and together they had spent many a late night playing DotA and learning how to infiltrate networks and computers. All the other boys – they were all boys, as it had been a single-sex Catholic school – had either given up on their rather illegal hobby or put their skills to use by pursuing careers in IT. Alex, however, had continued to hone his skills over the years despite choosing to study law at university. His hobby frequently kept him up late, hunched and squinting in front of a bright screen, and he frequently skipped or slept through university lectures. He had somehow managed to pass and eventually graduate, but despite his exceptional IQ of 158, his grades had been mediocre and finding employment in the legal field had been a struggle.

Alex had money saved up from brief stints in paid internships, but knew that his savings would eventually run dry. He split the rent with John, and dreaded the day he would find himself, still unemployed, asking his boyfriend to cover his half of the rent too. Still, he continued to (somewhat deliberately) jeopardise his chances at employment because – although he could not admit it to himself – he had no real desire to ever work as a lawyer. Thus, he found himself perpetually unemployed.

His most recent hacking exploits had focussed on the ironclad systems of MI6. Alex had spent weeks trying to undermine the state-of-the-art security that protected the secrets of Britain’s foreign intelligence agency, to no avail.

Until now.

Alex bit his lip as he peered at the screen over the rim of his teacup. He knew he was closer than ever, but still not close enough. He needed to find a crack, a hairline fracture. A flaw in the virtual armour that was small enough to have been overlooked by MI6 – or anyone other than his intelligent, sharp-eyed self.

 _Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks_ , he muttered under his breath, sharp green eyes scanning lines of constantly changing code.

Then, he saw it.

Alex felt his stomach drop as adrenalin flowed to his fingertips. He knew he was on the cusp of a breakthrough.

Rolling the sleeves of his flannel pyjamas up to his elbows, he spent three tense minutes picking through code like a virtual locksmith, tunnelling his way towards the network’s core.

Finally, he leaned back and sighed with satisfaction and relief, flexing his aching knuckles as he did so. A broad smile cracked his face.

He was in.


	2. A New Era

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex is employed.  
> A lot of dialogue, I know, but it's unavoidable at this stage. Things will be picking up soon!

**\- Chapter 2 -**

Geoffrey Boothroyd had dealt with a lot of security breaches in his time, but none so impossibly sophisticated as this.

As Quartermaster of MI6 – affectionately known as Q – he helmed Q Branch, which was responsible for research, technological development and security. For decades, he had ensured that MI6’s secrets were protected by impenetrable walls: in the past, actual physical barriers, and now by virtual shields.

He was good at his job. He was _very_ good at his job.

Boothroyd raked his hands through his hair in frustration, tugging the grey strands as his eyes scanned the office, which was buzzing with the frenzied scurrying of Q Branch personnel.

Some punk had needled his way into their system.

They knew who he was. They were MI6, after all. As soon as they had detected his presence they had investigated and uncovered his identity. They did not, however, know how or why he had done it.

Or, for that matter, what he was doing now.

He had suddenly disappeared from their collective radar. They knew he was still manipulating their network and tampering with their data, but they had somehow lost sight of him.

“Somerset!” barked Boothroyd, moving towards a young man who was grimacing at a computer screen. “We need to lock the bastard out! We can’t bloody well seal things up if he’s still tinkering around in here! We need to shut him down and get him _out_.”

Josh Somerset gave an exasperated sigh. He considered himself good at handling high-pressure situations, but he had been awake for over thirty hours whilst dealing with this breach and it appeared that a decent nap was still nowhere on the horizon. Worse still, he knew that he was personally responsible for the security flaw that the hacker had exploited.

He shook his head at his superior, who looked stricken with panic. “With all due respect, sir, that is what we have been _trying_ to do for the past twenty-four hours. This Alex Quentin kid knows what he’s doing. We can’t even see him anymore. He’s managed to disguise his virtual presence as one of our own. The system isn’t recognising the threat because he’s cloaked himself as one of us…”

“Which one of us?!”

Somerset swallowed nervously. “Well, ah… He’s disguised himself as you, sir.”

Boothroyd barely comprehended this answer. He was on the verge of retirement, true, but he was no fool. He was as sharp as ever. _No,_ he thought to himself, _I have always carefully safeguarded my virtual identity. This cannot be true. Does Somerset take me for an idiot?_

Somerset took Boothroyd’s silence as a lack of comprehension. “He’s calling himself Q, and he’s–” he began to explain before he was cut short by Boothroyd’s voice, dark and clipped with anger.

“This cannot be so. Do you expect me to believe that a twenty-something hacker boy has somehow out-witted the Quartermaster of MI6?”

“Unfortunately, sir, it seems that’s _exactly_ what has happened.”

* * *

M frowned at the three men standing before her.

She had known Geoffrey Boothroyd for most of her life, and she respected him immensely. He was the most capable quartermaster – indeed the _only_ quartermaster – she had ever known. Beside him was her Chief of Staff, Bill Tanner, a man whom she found to be capable but also an occasional liability given his propensity to ignore correct procedure and take matters into his own hands. She barely knew the third man, Joshua Somerset, a young Q Branch employee whom she knew was hoping to be promoted to Quartermaster upon Boothroyd’s retirement. Somerset was shuffling his feet nervously and staring at the ground, occasionally glancing upwards with cautiously hopeful eyes.

“Do stand still, Somerset. All you three are aware of what we are here to discuss, are you not?” asked M. She pursed her thin lips as the men nodded silently. “Excellent. As it happens, there will be very little discussion. The decision has already been made.” She turned towards Somerset, meeting the young man’s eyes. “After the incompetence you displayed last week during the hacking debacle, Tanner and I have reconsidered the nature of your employment. We appreciate all the hard work you have done for us over the past three years, but the fact that you overlooked a fatal flaw when implementing the new security framework is inexcusable, given that this is the second such mistake you have made in the past year.”

M watched as the colour drained from Somerset’s smooth face. In spite of herself, her heart ached with sympathy for the ambitious young man. She continued, her voice a little gentler. “We are willing to hazard that you have well and truly learnt your lesson by now. You will retain your position, but we believe that you are unsuitable for promotion to Quartermaster.”

A strange mixture of relief and disappointment briefly clouded Somerset’s face, but he squared his shoulders and nodded.

M went on. “Q is to retire next week, after decades of faithful and commendable service to the agency. Despite the last-minute reshuffling we have had to do, we believe we have found an excellent successor for his role. The name Alex Quentin may sound familiar to you, albeit for the wrong reasons.”

Somerset’s eyes widened and he glanced around at his superiors.

_Surely not._

Boothroyd placed a reassuring hand upon his shoulder. “I can assure you, we’ve thoroughly vetted the fellow. The whole hacking incident was deplorable, yes, but it turned out his intentions – or lack thereof – weren’t malicious. He hacked us for the _sake_ of hacking us… And, as it turns out, he’s a bloody genius.”

Somerset finally found his voice. “This kid is essentially a criminal,” he pointed out, trying to sound calm and measured, “and you’re rewarding him for his bad deeds with the highest-ranking position in Q Branch?!”

M shook her head. “He’s a bored twenty-four year old. He holds a law degree from Cambridge. He’s certifiably gifted and an incredible lateral thinker. Most importantly, his skills are unparalleled. He was able to outsmart us. Our best protection is to always be one step ahead of those to whom we are vulnerable: if we can’t beat him, why not use him? He’ll be a valuable asset to MI6.”

“He’s even younger than me! This is ridiculous!” Poor Somerset still couldn’t quite fathom what he was hearing.

“And somewhat undisciplined, yes, but he’ll undergo a month of rigorous training as he adjusts to the job. After having already met with him several times, I’m confident that he’ll inject new life into Q Branch and prove himself to be intelligent and innovative.”

Tanner was nodding in agreement. Somerset was still dumbstruck.

Boothroyd smiled at his three soon-to-be ex-colleagues. “A new era is beginning for Q Branch.”


	3. An Uphill Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q's life is pretty much terrible...

**\- Chapter 3 –**

Alex swung his legs under his chair, wound dark curls of hair around his spindly fingers and bit his lip.

Nine months into his new job and Q – as he was now called – had already messed up once, having been fooled into facilitating Silva’s escape. Though he had subsequently redeemed himself by arranging an electronic trail to distract Silva and buy Agent 007 and M more time to escape, he was still embarrassed at having fallen into Silva’s trap due to his own carelessness.

That operation, retrospectively referred to as Skyfall, had brought about major changes in MI6. Following his predecessor’s death, Mallory had been appointed M, and Eve Moneypenny had retired from fieldwork in order to become his secretary. The renowned Agent 007 had been allowed back into the field. MI6 had, yet again, overhauled its security systems.

The entire debacle had humbled Q. His cocky attitude had been – for the most part – replaced with a more mature, professional demeanour, and he had worked tirelessly to prove himself worthy of his title. He knew that, for various reasons, many of his staff did not respect him. Some were critical of his youth and inexperience, and others were justifiably peeved that, despite years of service in Q Branch, they had been overlooked for promotion to Quartermaster in favour of this scruffy-haired prodigy who held no formal IT qualifications. It felt like nothing he achieved was enough to earn their approval or respect.

He was fighting an uphill battle, and he knew it.

Q sipped Earl Grey from his Scrabble mug. He took a deep breath, inhaling the bergamot-scented steam in an attempt to soothe his nerves. His workspace felt so exposed: his desk was positioned at the front of the office, overlooking his staff. Everything he did was tinged with paranoia, as he could feel their judgmental eyes following him as he went about his work.

Someone moved beside him. Startled, he plunked down his mug and looked up.

Josh Somerset was standing there, glaring at Q through his thick-rimmed glasses, a stack of paper clutched in his folded arms.

“Quartermaster. Sorry to disturb you when you are evidently _extremely_ busy.” Somerset’s voice was laced with particularly noxious sarcasm and his lip curled with barely-concealed distaste.

 _Nobody_ despised Q as much as Somerset.

Q did his best to respond pleasantly. “Somerset. I see you’ve printed the report. Thank you. Just put it–”

The stack of paper landed on his desk with a loud _thud_ as Somerset turned on his heel and sauntered away.

Q knew the man had fair reason to hate him. Only a few years older than Q, he had studied computer science at Cambridge and received a university medal for both his undergraduate degree and subsequent PhD, leaving with first-class honours, and had worked in Q Branch for more than four times as long as Q. Still, Q had tried to make amends by including Somerset in decision-making processes, making a concerted effort to be friendly to him without being patronising.

His efforts had evidently been futile.

Somerset hated him. _Everyone_ hated him. 

* * *

John nuzzled the nape of Aidan’s neck, wrapping his arms around the man’s solid torso as he buttoned his shirt. Finished, Aidan turned and caught him with a passionate kiss.

Laughing, John ran his fingers through his lover’s tousled blonde hair. “I’ve never seen you get dressed so quickly. In a rush to get away from me, eh? Not so fast!”

The two men wrestled playfully, Aidan pushing John onto the bed and easily pinning him down with his strong arms. John eyed the Adonis-like body above him, chiseled muscles visible even through clothing. He winked teasingly. “You’d better be gone before Alex gets home!”

Aidan leaned down and raked his teeth along the side of John’s neck. “I’m in no rush to go anywhere…” he growled, biting at the soft skin just above the collarbone.

Suddenly, he froze. His eyes widened with alarm and he gripped John’s arm.

“What was that?” he whispered, staying perfectly still.

John listened. He heard nothing. Smiling, he shook his head reassuringly. “Alex is never home before seven. His job is crazy. He actually finishes at five, but he always works over time. Relax.”

Aidan gripped his shoulders, face twitching in panic. “Look at the wall clock! It’s past seven!” he hissed.

John sat up and squinted at the clock.

Ten past seven.

He could have sworn it was still around six-thirty. Still, he hadn’t heard anything. “Shit, okay, so it’s past seven, but he’s not home yet. We still have–”

An anguished shriek rang out. _“_ No! No more! No! No, fuck you, _no!!!”_

Both men turned, paralysed with shock.

Q stood in the doorway, his hands balled into trembling fists and his cheekbones shining with tears.

For several electric seconds, nobody moved. Nobody spoke.

John’s voice was hoarse when he finally found it. “You weren’t supposed to…” he began to explain, trailing off lamely.

Aidan leapt to his feet, grabbed his shoes and socks and dashed past Q, muttering what sounded like an apology. The walls shook as he slammed the front door in his haste to leave the house.

John slowly rose up off the bed and approached Q, his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry. I am so sorry you had to see this. This was all a huge mistake. Please, please forgive me. It’s never happened before, I–”

“You’re a liar.”

“Alex, please. I love you. You _know_ I love you. I made a mistake. I fucked up. I love you. Please…”

“Aidan, eh? Aidan the accountant. I remember him from your office Christmas party. Handsome chap. I was wondering why you’ve started coming home so late. You never put in overtime and yet you seemingly get home only minutes before me every day. Now it _all makes sense._ ”

“Please, bloody hell, it was a mistake. I promise. Give me a chance. Please…”

“I watched you from the door for over a minute before you even noticed me. Get out of here. Leave.” Q’s voice was shaking and tears continued to roll from beneath his heavy-rimmed glasses. He pointed at the door.

John started to walk towards the door, but Q grabbed his arm. “Actually, no. You stay here and pack up your shit. I want you out by tomorrow afternoon. I’m sleeping at the office tonight. Make sure you take the bed linen. I don’t want to touch your adulterous filth.”

Before John could respond, Q was gone.


	4. Agent 007

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond and Q find themselves in an unusual situation.

**\- Chapter 4 -**

“Quartermaster? Q?”

Q’s eyelids fluttered at the sound of a deep voice. Squinting against the fluorescent glare of the office, he fumbled in his cardigan pocket for his glasses.

Agent 007’s face flickered into view.

Q realised he’d fallen asleep at his desk, his cup of Earl Grey untouched beside his laptop. The side of his face itched, lined with indentations from resting his head on his arm and crusted with the salt of dried tears.

“What are you doing in here, 007?” he mumbled, rubbing his cheek.

“I could ask you the same thing, Q. It’s ten o’clock at night. I’ve always imagined you to be a workaholic, but this is a whole new level.”

“I’ve always imagined you to be a hypocrite, but this is a whole new level. Kindly explain what you are doing in my department?” snapped Q, glaring at the blond agent.

“I had a meeting with M and Tanner tonight. After it finished, I noticed that the personnel monitor screen in the hallway showed that someone was still in Q Branch, despite M, Tanner and myself being the only employees in the building at the time our meeting began. Naturally, I was curious.”

“Naturally, despite the activities of Q Branch being none of your bloody business.”

Bond put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “You’re a mess, Q. You look like you’ve been put through a tumble dryer. Go home and get some rest.”

Q flinched and shook the hand off, abruptly jumping to his feet. “I can take care of myself. I can’t go ho- I’ve been working on a new project. I was just taking a nap. Kindly leave my department and–”

“Why can’t you go home?”

“I never said I couldn’t. I said–”

“You were about to say you couldn’t go home.”

“Because I’m… I’m working on this project. It’s fairly urgent.” Q glared at Bond.

Bond shook his head. “Look, I’ll be honest with you. The meeting finished about half an hour ago. When I saw there was someone in Q Branch, I came down and peered through the door. I saw you crying.”

“That’s absolute nonsense!” exclaimed Q, but his lip trembled tellingly.

“I watched you for a while from behind the glass, debating whether or not to go in. Eventually, you stopped crying and I realised you’d fallen asleep. I promise you, Q, I’m not here to embarrass or mock you.”

Q was silent. He stared at the floor, thick lashes concealing the tears welling in his eyes, too afraid to blink lest he cry – _again_ – in front of Bond.

Bond continued, his voice gentle. “If the pressure or stress of work is really getting to you, I’m sure M will understand that you need some time off. Everybody has moments when the pressure starts to get to them, and I think it’s a good idea to–”

“I don’t need your knuckle-headed opinion!” retorted Q, hastily wiping at the tears that were beginning to trickle down his face. “I am perfectly good at my job. Keep your nose out of my affairs!”

Embarrassed, Q grabbed his wallet and keys and started for the door, but Bond caught his wrist. “You need a drink.”

“Not with you.”

“Come along, Q. I know a good local place.”

 

* * *

 

The Quartermaster was onto his sixth beer, and had said as many words since he and Bond had arrived at the pub. Bond had given up trying to make conversation and instead sipped at a single pint of Guinness. Beer was not really his drink: too drawn-out, too weak. He preferred a martini, something with a bit of bite.

Q was evidently a beer drinker.

Bond watched the young man as he drank, realising that he had never really _noticed_ the Quartermaster. He barely knew the man. Aside from when co-operating on missions – and even then, thanks to technology – they rarely saw each other in the flesh.

He watched the abrupt movements and mannerisms that gave away Q’s brusque nature fade as he downed pint after pint of frothy amber. Q was slowly tracing the rim of his glass with a slender finger, eyes fixed on his drink. He suddenly looked so delicate and vulnerable, all smooth skin and angular limbs. There was a melancholy and almost feminine beauty to his face: behind his thick-rimmed glasses, his sea-green eyes were shaded by dense lashes which cast shadows along his sharp cheekbones, dark curls swooped across his forehead and his crimson lips were drawn into a sullen pout. Without knowing why, Bond felt protective of him. 

Bond reached forward and slid Q’s glass away from his hand. “You need to slow down, Q. Come on, tell me what’s going on. You’ve barely said a word.”

The younger man stared at the counter, shaking his head.

Bond tried a different tactic. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll let M know that you’re not up to scratch and you’re crumbling under the pressure. You can’t possibly do your job properly if–”

Q’s eyes met his, sharp with indignation despite his intoxication. “You will do no such thing, 007.”

“If you’re not coping with your job, then-“

“I am coping just fine. Everything is absolutely fine. You must never speak to anyone about anything you have seen tonight. I can’t… You mustn’t tell them anything. They already hate me.”

“Who already hates you, Q?”

Q bit his lip and looked away, realising he’d said too much.

Bond leaned forward and dropped his voice to a murmur. “You were sleeping at your desk. You were crying, for god’s sake. Tell me what’s the matter. I promise, this stays between us.”

Q shrugged and met Bond’s eyes again. Q was struck by how piercingly blue the agent’s eyes were, how handsome and kindly his face was despite its lines and scars. _I can probably trust him. I’m drunk, so fuck it. It won’t hurt to get this off my chest._

Q grabbed his glass back before Bond could stop him, and took a solid gulp before slamming it down again. “My life is an unfathomably huge pile of shit. I have nobody left.”

Bond wasn’t sure how to respond. _What does he mean? Did someone die?_

The younger man continued, his usually articulate speech a little slurred. “I was kicked out of home earlier this year because my dad didn’t approve of my partner. Everyone in Q Branch bloody hates me because I have no formal training and I took the job they wanted. My partner has been cheating on me and now I’m alone. It’s all fucked up.”

The agent had to stop himself from reaching for Q’s hand. He could see tears threatening to spill from those deep eyes. Clearing his throat, he responded carefully. “You’re a bloody good Quartermaster. They might be jealous, but I’m sure none of them would disagree. As for your dad? Fuck him. You’re an adult; you can make your own decisions. Your partner was obviously a bitch and she doesn’t–”

“He. John. He’s… He’s fucking broken my heart.”

“He, then. He’s obviously a bastard. The common theme in all of this, Q, is that none of it is your fault. You’ve just had a streak of bad luck.”

“It won’t stop. I just- I- it’s one thing after the other. I’m just… I’m so _tired,_ 007.” A tear slid down his cheek, but he was too drunk to care.

This time, Bond couldn’t stop himself from sliding his hand over Q’s, caressing it gently. Q didn’t even notice and continued to speak, his voice becoming slightly hysterical. “My mum left when I was two. My sister died when I was six. I have no family left! I have no friends! I’m alone, I’m fucking _alone_ , just when I thought that finally–”

Bond stood. “Come on, Q. I think you’ll feel better after a good sleep and a day off work. Let’s get you a cab.” He helped Q to his feet. The younger man had fallen silent again, seemingly embarrassed by his outburst.

Bond braced himself for the wintry chill as they left the pub and walked towards the cab rank. The street was dark and quiet, save for Q’s occasional sobs and the echo of their footsteps on the cobblestones.

Opening the door of a cab and helping him in, Bond asked Q for his address.

“No, no, 007, I can’t go there! John is there and I’m meant to be sleeping at the office, I can’t–”

Bond sighed and followed Q into the cab. “You can crash on my couch tonight.”

The young man clung to Bond’s arm in a drunken attempt at a grateful hug. The agent looked down at the tear-streaked face resting against his jacket and was filled with a mixture of irritation and tenderness. Before he was even conscious of what he was doing, he pulled Q closer and rested his chin atop the man’s tousled hair.

Bond didn’t know why he cared about the Quartermaster, only that he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come, obviously! I'm aiming to publish one or two chapters each week. Please leave suggestions/constructive criticism at http://sparqs00q.tumblr.com/.


	5. Coming soon!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming soon! If you have any suggestions/constructive criticism, please leave me a message at http://sparqs00q.tumblr.com/

Coming soon!


End file.
